Kingdom Come
by CoconutsAndJelly
Summary: Charming, perplexing and pure, Hermione is not just an enigma; she's the one thing Tom Riddle can seem to figure out.
1. Prologue

"Et le leçon de la conte des fée est qu'il faut tuer le dragon, et quand il est mort, le monde est belle encore," her mother whispered, finishing the classic fairytale, tucking the sheets around her tiny daughter's body and pressing a light kiss on her forehead, "La fin."

"Maman, tu seras toujours me protéger de le dragon, non?" Hermione asked, looking up to her mummy with worry in her dark chocolate eyes, "Je ne sais pas comment."

"Toujours et sans cesse," she reassured her daughter, "Je vais vous protéger de tout ce qui essaie de vous blesser. Maintainent, ma fifille, ce nuit et le temps à dormir. Je t'aime de fond de mon cœur, chou chou."

"Moi aussi, Maman," her sleepy voice murmured, before she turned into her pillow, "Je t'aime."

"Un jour, ma fifille, tu seras une sorcière d'une grande puissance, mais tu seras toujours ma petite fille," the woman whispered, turning off her daughter's bedside lamp and walking out of the room, glancing back once more at her beautiful daughter before closing the door.

* * *

"When will there next be a meeting, Tom?" Abraxas asked, looking away from his friend to sneer at the abhorrent second year Gryffindors that burst passed the slow-paced Slytherins giggling.

"Malfoy, I fear there will not be a meeting for some time this year, at least till Yule time," Tom Riddle informed his fellow Slitherin coldly, still annoyed by the idiocy of the younger knights he had recruited, "I am you are aware certain teachers are quite suspicious of our little extracurricular activity after last years debacle, considering that astounding intellect your mother refuses to stop talking about."

They both fell silent at Riddle's scathing word as they made their way to the great hall for the first meal of their fifth year. The frosty temperature of Hogwarts castle was as warm a comfort as he could have hoped for on his return to what he now called home – no matter the infantile cretins and incompetent idlers that resided there in the term times.

"Did you have a good summer then, Riddle?" Abraxas asked casually.

"Yes, it was most satisfying," he answered, leaving Abraxas to roll his eyes at the curt boy as they made their way to the Slytherin table. Never one to elaborate, the unfortunate silence that befell the two was an often occurrence, not once remedied by his constant questions or general conversation. Hell, Abraxas had gotten more stimulating conversation out of Dearria Crabbe, and she was barmier than half the nut-jobs in Mungos.

"Good evening, students," the tedious and monotonous tone of their reviled headmaster called, the exaggerated booming from his wand doing nothing to rouse the Slytherin students, all of whom had prepared themselves for yet another lecture of nonsensical tosh from the man that the other houses seemed to soak up with no complaints.

'_At least he doesn't teach classes,_' Abraxas sighed, '_Merlin help us all if that man gains any interest in academics._'

"If he repeats himself again this year, I swear I shall not be attending next years welcoming feast," he said, irritated.

After a beat of silence, there was no reply from Riddle, so he looked over to his friend, seeing exactly the opposite of what he he'd wanted to. Tom was sitting rigidly and glaring over at the professors' table, where the familiar form of Dumbledore clad in his usual periwinkle robes, – who he genuinely believed to be Tom's nemesis – was smiling knowingly, the ever present twinkle in his glassy blue eyes shining in the light of the magical candles.

"-and in the event of an accident, it is prudent for those of you who are able to report straight to the hospital wing. Do not loiter on the halls when getting from place to place, and in the event of an accident-"

"Look!" a hasty cry from the Ravenclaw table and a hand pointed upward brought the of the students and teachers attention away from their cutlery and the conversations they had been having, and to the brightening star which was reflected in the magical ceiling of the hall, "It's growing!"

"Gormless prick," Tom grumbled, refusing to believe that the ceiling, a Hogwarts tradition which he'd read in 'Hogwarts: A History' had never been changed since Rowena Ravenclaw first enchanted it, was changing before an entire hall of students.

"Er, I don't think he's kidding, Tom," Abraxas said hesitantly, looking up, "Something's definitely happening."

"Probably Potter and his idiot friends-"

Finally turning his head to the supposed source of the commotion, Tom squinted immediately, the sudden brightness burning his retinas.

From the dark sky surrounding the star, tiny shimmering lights began to spiral their way down towards the long tables of the hall. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the conjured stars were falling gracefully from the sky in a shower of glimmering globes. Each separate light left a trail of sparkles, which reminded him of the snitches he watched patiently every quidditch match as the seeker fumbled about on the other side of the pitch. It seemed to the spectators that there were hundreds of them, each one following an intricate pattern in the vast space above their heads; each one spaced apart in a choreographed design that put any field of fireflies to shame as they tumbled silently, bewitchingly.

"What in fresh hell is this?"

Suddenly, as if pulled together by an invisible force, the thousands of separate lights spiraled together rapidly, creating a form of shimmering silver, almost as if someone had formed a corporeal patronus in human form.

The silence of the students was interrupted by the gasp of one teacher. Tom's confused and speculating stare was stolen from the beautiful orbs and directed once again to the pine that stretched across the expanse of the grand hall where, contrasting against the fascinated faces' of his other professors, Albus Dumbledore was frowning at the sight, that erudite twinkle dimmed in confusion in his eyes.

Tom frowned at the mystified expression of the aggravating Gryffindor head. What did he have to do with this?

Dumbledore looked over to the headmaster, standing up and walking over to Dippet, who appeared quite a lot feebler than usual – a hard task indeed, Tom was sure – and secured a hand on his back to support the faint man.

A glittering hand reached up from the stars, clutching a wand made of pure light, before in a dazzling flash the stars were gone and a human no different to Tom himself appeared in its place.

The girl had pale skin: the same classic white he saw in the necklace of pearls Miss Martha from the orphanage wore each Sunday to church. She had the high cheekbones and soft jawline of the society girls he'd spent time with, but her almond shaped eyes and the silky, spiraling honey tresses that fell to her shoulders in waves that could only be natural told him she had probably come from elsewhere in Europe – perhaps France? She certainly seemed from somewhere other than here, though Tom thought her to be around his own age. She was wrapped in silk robes, and barely standing, by the looks of things. Tom saw Dumbledore whisper something, but he couldn't make out what it was that he's said.

After standing on her newly formed legs for a second or so, not bothering to glance her surroundings or attempt to speak, Tom saw a flash of pain in her eyes and a flinch in her covered right arm, before she promptly crashed to the floor.

The students were shocked, non able to form coherent sentences as the professors looked on. When it became clear no one else was willing to reach out to the girl, Dumbledore removed his hand from the headmaster, moving toward her before he was snatched by the wrist by the man he had been leaving, "How can you trust her Albus?"

"I don't Armando. But I am quite certain something with such a pure spirit can do much harm to me."

He strode determinately to the mysterious beauty, stepping closer only to be pushed back by something invisible, a protective shield.

"Albus?"

Just as suddenly as he was thrust away, the girls' pale skin morphed into fur of a golden yellow, her curly hair transforming into a mane of the same texture. A collective gasp sounded through the hall, mostly from the girls; lying where she had been before was now a striking lioness with golden fur.

Abraxas, not one to miss an opportunity for a jibe, turned from the sight to his friend and said, "I'm guessing that one's in Gryffindor…"

* * *

Hi, so this is the first chapter! I'll probably lose about 57% of you because that's just personal preference. But to make sure I don't lose anymore, here's the first scene in English. Hope you like! x

* * *

"And the lesson of the fairytale is that you must kill the dragons, and when he is dead, the world will become beautiful once more," her mother whispered, finishing the classic fairytale, tucking the sheets around her tiny daughter's body and pressing a light kiss on her forehead, "The end."

"Mummy, you'll always protect me from the dragons, won't you?" Hermione asked, looking up to her mummy with worry in her dark chocolate eyes, "Because I don't really know how."

"Forever and ever," she reassured her daughter, "I will protect you from everything and anything that tries to hurt you. Now, my sweetheart, the sun has gone to bed and time for you to go to sleep. I love you from the bottom of my heart, darling."

"Me too, mummy," her sleepy voice murmured, before she turned into her pillow, "I love you."

"One day, my darling, you will be a brilliantly strong witch, but you will always be my little girl," the woman whispered, turning off her daughter's bedside lamp and walking out of the room, glancing back once more at her beautiful daughter before closing the door.


	2. Sleeping Beauty

Ooh la la, someone's being sneaky! Why Thomas Riddle, what do you think you are doing? I think you're gonna like it!

* * *

There was something pressing on her forehead. That was the first sensation she could feel.

Not that her eyes had been glued shut from however long they'd been shut as she slept, or that her heart was racing faster than it'd ever done in the wild to salvage and restore every devastated pore of her body, each crying out for relief. No, there was something pressing on her forehead, and she didn't like it.

"My dear Poppy, there is no doubt healer Helbert has done all he can for our dear visitor," a soothing English voice pacified, his tone making Hermione think he was warning this Poppy woman to be mindful, though not bluntly.

She doubted this Poppy was even a woman, by the high-pitched tone of her voice and the hint of fatuity to it. Perhaps she was a student under the man; he seemed quite a bit older – at least in his early forties.

"But Albus, look at her! She-"

"I know perfectly well the condition of the girl, Miss Pomfrey, however we are not at liberty to discuss the matter. As he said, the girl will wake up in her own time; not when you feel you deserve answers."

His voice was, once again, not sharp or cutting, but there was a tinge of warning that spoke volumes of the man's nature. He spoke with the air of a loving grandfather, though he didn't sound the age of one. He was quite obviously impatient, just less willing to show it to others.

'_The opposite of Olivier_,' she thought, '_He would have bit her head off for her foolish persistence. The man's obviously not talking._'

Poppy, though, had decided not to heed his warning, "She just looks so healthy! Why is she still in bed?"

"Poppy Ethel Pomfrey! I have told you that this is the end of the conversation and you will heed my words or be removed from the room. That poor girl has exhausted her magical core and her physical body in breaking through the wards of Hogwarts, and is in considerable discomfort; bearing in mind the state she was in when she got here. Your arguing is most definitely not letting her rest," he scolded her, "Shouting is most unbecoming and definitely not decorous. I have nurtured your curiosity and helped you become apprentice to healer Herbert, but you must learn to curb your insistence. You are still a woman in society."

"I am sorry, Professor" she said faintly, "I just worry."

"I know you do, dear," he soothed again, apparently accepting her apology, "If ever there was a Hufflepuff more like Helga herself, you are her."

At his praise Hermione's fingers and brain twitched in sync. She remembered reading about someone called Hufflepuff.

'_Was it_ _Les Fondateurs de Poudlard: Une Histoire__?_' she asked herself, thinking back to her lessons with Madame Amaré, '_Am I in Hogwarts?_'

"I see our patient is making progress," Hermione heard an old, rasping voice. This man sounded a great deal senior to Poppy and Albus, and she thought perhaps, if this were the healer Helbert the two had been discussing, he was close to retirement age, and maybe silvering, "These twitches are a good sign; it suggests her body is healing."

"And what of her magical core?" Albus enquired.

"It is severely depleted at this moment," he informed them, "Were she to awaken, she would be restricted to basic spells only. However given time it will most definitely recover to full strength, and I have a feeling this one is very powerful."

"She must be!" Poppy said proudly, "No one else has ever broken through the wards before. And she's an animagus!"

"Yes," the younger man agreed, "One very talented girl."

"But what of her family, Albus," healer Helbert sighed, "The girl must have a reason for coming here. We don't even know her name."

"Does it matter?" Albus said pityingly, as if he knew of some great trauma Hermione didn't; she certainly didn't know why she had arrived at a place she had only ever heard about in books, "She is a individual in need, Helbert, that is evident from her arrival. And as I have always said, and will continue to say: help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

"Wise words from one so young," healer Helbert said; Hermione could see the smile in his words, "I do hope someday you will replace that fool Dippet. I cannot stand one more year of his waning presence and futility."

"He is a kind man," Poppy opposed, "but perhaps not suited to leadership."

"I think a few more years of being lead by another will do my humility good," Albus laughed, "Now, how about we let our patient rest; I do believe Miss Pomfrey has some potions to brew?"

"Ah yes," the eldest man agreed, "and I some tea."

As Hermione drifted back out of consciousness, she realised she'd never found out what was pressing so hard on her forehead.

* * *

It wasn't every day Tom Riddle resorted to eavesdropping, so when he found himself in front of the hospital wing doors, his ear pressed up against the thick pine and a sonorous charm on what little noise could be heard, he wasn't exactly amused.

'_That girl is a pest,_' he thought, standing away from the door and folding his arms at the continued conversation between the seventh year, Poppy Pomfrey, and Dumbledore on the effects of salamander blood and honey water in Wiggenweld potion, '_But she's powerful._'

Tom had seen her core, just as he was certain Albus had, and he was amazed at the sheer power and purity inside her soul. She was a deep well of energy, magical and moral, and he knew that he had to get her before his enemy.

"Tom?" a perplexed voice asked, and Tom turned to see the shaggy blond hair of the eldest Diggory.

"Orson, what are you doing out in the corridors?" he asked his fellow fifth year._  
_

"Er, I was just heading to the common room Tom, why? What are you doing?"

"No reason," he shook his head, "I'm not doing anything. Carry on."

"Okay..."

Tom smirked at the incompetence of the boy, watching him closely as he left. The fool's common room was in the opposite direction.

_'Hufflepuffs,' _he rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the door.

"Well my dear, I do believe the time has come that I must retire to my quarters," Dumbledore said, his footsteps echoing through the charm Tom was quick to remove, "The eventide has shifted to dusk before our very eyes. I wish you a good night, my dear, and safe journey."

"Albus I am just going along the corridor," Poppy laughed in reply as Tom cast a disillusion spell, "I doubt I will come to any harm."

"You jest my dear, but nowhere is as safe as it seems, even Hogwarts," he told her, his voice soft, "May our ward awake in the morning, Merlin permitting."

"I believe she is ready, sir," Poppy agreed.

"Lets hope so," he smiled, opening the door.

"Sleep well, Albus."

"The same to you, dear."

Tom frowned as Dumbledore walked off to the professors' chambers; he had learnt nothing of the girl. He crept to the door, still open from Dumbledore's departure, and stepped silently into the ward.

"I deem it likely you will awake tomorrow, pretty girl," the medi-nurse whispered to her, the affection in her tone surprising Tom, "I have a feeling you are an awfully special individual, little one."

'_Yes, and for that I'll be keeping an eye on you,_' Tom smirked, '_Dumbledore and this simpering woman have no chance of keeping that lily white core of yours unblemished.'__  
_


	3. Gryffindoom

There had been no news.

Three days of evasion and dodging questions from every professor and still, no information from anyone, not even a name. The fifth-year students had been the most interested, having decided as a whole that she was definitely their age – not to say that the rest of the student body wasn't fascinated and thoroughly confused.

There'd been whole lessons spent interrogating teachers who sidestepped questions and struggled to get their students attention as they whispered and theorised the reasons behind girl's appearance and sudden defensive magic at Dumbledore's approach. Some overwhelmed professors had even begun avoiding pupils altogether, turning and walking off when they saw them in the halls to stop the imminent questioning.

"What did he say?" the loud, mature voice of Charlus Potter called down the table to his three friends who were approaching from their lesson in potions with professor Slughorn, "Anything?"

Four Gryffindors in particular had been pushing hard to find out any information they could. Charlus, Eoghan Wood, Silas Spinnet and Rory Finnigan had spent the entire week questioning their teachers, though to no avail. To the other students, the constant grilling from the four over the seemingly endless days was beginning to get tiresome, but they'd kept on.

"Who is she?" Charlus continued impatiently, piling his plate with more of the delicious Hogwarts grub.

"We don't know," Eoghan shrugged, slumping down onto the bench.

"They won't answer us," Silas grumbled, shoving his fork moodily into the mash on his plate, "And no one is getting in that hospital wing."

"You tried to get into the hospital wing! Are you three nuts?" he exclaimed, his fork-full of food stopping before his mouth, "You actually wanted to go to healer Helbert!"

"No, you edjit, he was trying to see the girl," Rory laughed, rolling his eyes and grabbing some pumpkin juice, "You know, because _she's_ in there…"

"Oh!" he realised, the other three boys smirking at his slowness, "So how did you get caught?"

"One word: Diggory," Silas told him, their grins being replaced by scowls, knowing they'd have to tell him.

"What, Orson? He's never been one for the rules," Charlus furrowed his brows, confused.

"Not Orson," Eoghan shook his head, grimacing, "His brother, Eldritch."

"You mean his little brother Eldritch, the first year?" he grinned, laughing out loud at the disgruntled faces of his best mates, "You got told off by a _first year_!"

"No! He just threatened to report us," Silas defended himself, glaring, "After Slughorn refused to answer any questions, we decided to-"

"They decided," Silas interrupted firmly, wanting no part in the idiocy, "I was just an unwilling victim."

"Well, anyway. We decided that one of us would have to bravely sacrifice ourselves to get into the hospital wing, so we had us wands pointed in Silas' face and he just, you know, turned up when we were about to curse him and started shouting that he was going to get a professor and me and Eoghan were going to get detention and lose fifty points for Gryffindor," Rory chuckled, "We didn't take him seriously though."

"Merlin, that sounds hilarious!" Charlus laughed, "So what, did you run for your lives like little firsties?"

"I didn't!" Eoghan exclaimed, "He's titchy."

"What did you do then?"

Silas shoveled the mouthwatering hotpot Hogwarts provided each term, rolling his eyes at the beaming smile and the gleam in Rory's eye, "It's not that exciting. Stupid, really."

"He cursed the hell out of him!" Rory countered, bouncing in his seat, "That's not exactly boring, is it?"

"You cursed a first year? You cursed a Diggory?" Charlus asked uncomfortably, thinking of the skilled elder brother of said first year, the same boy who'd won a place as on of the top ten duelists in dueling club since third year, "Isn't that a bit rash, mate?"

"Thank you!" Silas cried, "That's what I said!"

"Who cares," Eoghan shrugged casually, "It was just a little leg-locker; he'll be fine. Someone will have found him."

"Is that so, Wood?" the smooth voice of the fifth year they'd been discussing demanded, his handsome voice matching the face that was currently glaring down at him, "Then you won't mind explaining to me why my brother – a_ first _year, I might add – is sitting exhausted up in Hufflepuff commons instead of enjoying his dinner in the main hall?"

"Er-"

"Oh yeah, because you left him alone in the dungeons to hop there."

"Orson, he didn't mean any harm by it," Charlus said, putting his hand up in surrender, "He's sorry, aren't you Eoghan?"

"Yeah, of course," he nodded quickly, his eyes widening at the muscled boy's reddened face and drawn wand.

"You're better off keeping out of this one Potter," he warned, his wand getting dangerously close to the sitting boy "I'm about to teach your stupid Gryffindor pal that the loyalty we have in Hufflepuff is increased tenfold when it comes to family."

"Diggory, seriously, we don't need to get into this," Silas said solidly, standing from his place across from the two, gathering whispers and curious stares as Orson begun to fume, "It didn't cause any damage, and-"

"_Villus contagio_!" he stormed, waving his wand wildly in intricate patterns, aiming straight at Eoghan, whose face was losing colour quickly. The students gasped at the rapid deterioration of his body, a second passing before he collapsed straight into his dinner.

"Mr Diggory!" Dumbledore's booming voice cried across the hall harshly, striding speedily from the teachers table to the boys, "What do you think you are doing cursing my students!"

"Sir-"

"Potter, Spinnet, Finnigan, get him to the hospital wing quickly," he ordered, the boys levitating their "Mr Diggory, you are to come with me."

* * *

Miss Pomfrey scowled at the sound of hammering on the large oak door of the hospital wing. She had been sorting the stores of healing potions in the stock cupboard, and the loud, urgent banging had made her lose her grip on the last bottle of snapdragon draught and it'd smashed onto the floor, covering her shoes in muscle relaxant.

"Most probably another student trying to trick me into letting them in to see the little one," she grumbled, standing up and vanishing the mess of fuchsia medicine from the tile and walking to the door, where another impatient knock to the door came.

She walked over to the door, opening it slightly, "Yes?"

"Miss Pomfrey, Eoghan's been hit with a nasty curse and he's blacked out!" the familiar voice of Charlus Potter called from the darkness of the hall.

"Oh gosh," she said, swinging the door open and ushering them inside, flitting to the empty bed opposite her ward and pulling the sheets off quickly, "Lay him there, dears."

Poppy knew these four boys very well, having looked after them in their first year of quidditch matches when injures had been high. They'd become quite good company, and whenever they came in she made sure to be the one to treat them, knowing the professional - if not a little stern - way he went about his work. She'd fixed their broken arms and legs with a flick of her wand, treated bruises with dozens of different salves, cleared their blood and healed their wounds.

Covering his body with the quilt, she asked them, "Do you know what he was hit with?"

"Was it villas contingo?" Rory asked his friends, looking over to his pallid friend.

"No, it was contagio, I think," Silas corrected him.

"Villus contagio?" Poppy asked them quickly, pursing her lips at Charlus' nod, "This is going to be a long night."

* * *

"Maman, Papa," the sweet, soft whimpers of the sleeping girl sounded, "Oli, Bastien?"

Poppy bit her nail as she looked down at the tossing girl, leaning over to take her temperature and tucking her tangled curls behind her ear again. She was nearly fully healed, but she was still receiving daily doses of vitamix potion for the strain on her magic and calming draught to lessen her fidgeting as she slept.

"Is there anything I could do to help?"? a worried voice called softly across the room, the thick Scottish accent faint with his burning throat.

"No Mr. Wood, I believe it best you right where you are: in your bed," Poppy frowned at the sight of the delirious girl, tucking the poor girl's sheets around her and feeling her feverish head again, "Our dear little one is important, but not above getting you better. We've not had a case of dryditch fever since I first came to Hogwarts. Nasty curse, that is."

She turned to the boy in an identical bed, his cheeks flushed and sweat glinting on his forehead.

"I didn't even know you could curse people to illness," Eoghan mumbled, looking up at the matron with heavy, blurred eyes.

"You can do all sorts of things with a wand, dear," she shook her head, "It's the one thing we never warn our children about nowadays, that magic is guided by intent. I suspect from earlier notes on this curse that you'll be bedridden for two days, perhaps more even, and you will need rest. That is to say, do not be calling for the others to come up here."

"Will it fade, then?"

"The symptoms will persist until you have been treated, but that is how long the cure will take to be made up," she said, sitting primly in the oak chair that had been placed by the bed, "Healer Helbert has gone to collect some armeria from the Wychwood greenhouses in Oxfordshire - and it will need to be boiled in water for a day or so - therefore I will be taking over the hospital ward whilst he is gone, as well as caring of our young charge."

"I'm glad you're here to look after us, not him," he told her uncertainly, playing with his fingers despite their icy temperature.

"Yes, well, just because I have a soft spot for the students here, that is not to say I don't think what you did was foolish and cruel," she admonished him, a stern frown settling on her face contrasting the delicate swirl of her honey blonde bun and the strands that had escaped it, "That poor boy could have been left there till the morn, were he not clever enough to get himself back to his brother. It is utterly shameful, Mr Wood, for you to have gotten yourself into this state with such callous actions."

"Slughorn would have gotten him," he grumbled, blinking quickly.

"Dizzy spell?"

He nodded slowly, bringing a shivering hand up to his head and groaning at the throbbing pain there.

"It will pass," she sighed, standing from the bed as his tightened face relaxed, "Get some rest, now."

"Good evening Miss," his scratched voice called.

Placing the chair back where it had been before, she stood from him and made her way to her only other patient.

"Dear girl, you are testing my patience. I don't think I can wait much longer for you to awaken."

"La lionne et l'énigme," her ward whispered softly, eyes blinking slowly, before closing them again.

Miss Pomfrey sighed, having gotten used to her drifting from comatose to almost conscious every so often, and turned to her office door.

Hermione groaned frustratedly as her heavy eyelids closed again and as the strong smell of medi-potions filled her nose. Her mouth was dryer than her aunty's pork roast at easter, so darted her tongue across her cracked lips a few times, trying to moisten them.

She knew she'd been lying down for a while now, in a bed not quite as comfy as the one she had at home, and whatever was behind her eyelids seemed constantly bright, leading her to the conclusion she wasn't at home - there, they had night. Lifting her hefty lids, orange light shone at her brightly, making her want to close them tightly again and never come out of the darkness.

'_No, I promised myself I'd wake up this time,_' she thought as her burning retina's tried to make sense of the blurry images she was seeing, '_If only to see where I am. That is, if I can ever see again._'

She felt like she'd been asleep for years, but she was still tired. Hearing the steady breath of another person on one side of the room matching footsteps coming from the other, she slowly turned her head towards the clearest source of noise. The muscles in her neck were stiff and sore, but she could just make out the a sickly pale boy under a mass of white sheets, sleeping it appeared.

"Where am I?" she asked herself, unaware of the young woman watching in bewilderment as she rearranged herself to be sitting upright.

"You're awake!"


End file.
